On the training ground, Owen got careless for a moment and was thrown to the ground by Monica with a backdrop suplex.
This was already the second time she had slammed him.
Owen had no idea what Monica was made of—she was clearly a woman, and not an especially muscular one at that. But her strikes were powerful, and more importantly, her ability to take hits was insane. Even when Owen managed to land a shot, she barely seemed fazed.
This time, Owen wasn't cheating—he fought purely with his natural ability.
He wasn't a masochist.
He just felt a little guilty—he had stolen so many of Monica's techniques and even passed them on to others. Maybe if he let her beat him up a little, he'd feel better about it. Consider it paying tuition.
That guilt lasted only a short while, though.
Because Monica hit way too hard.
If he didn't start cheating, he was actually afraid she might beat him to death.
The moment Owen activated bullet time, he made an unexpected discovery—just like with shooting, he could now clearly see every movement Monica made, the precise trajectory of her attacks, and how each technique transitioned into the next.
He was learning even as he was getting beaten up.
Jackpot.
Owen decided to let Monica keep hitting him for a little longer.
Sometimes, he could have dodged, but he deliberately chose not to. Instead, he kept mimicking his old skill level, letting Monica vent as much as she wanted.
His goal?
Extract as much knowledge as possible from Monica.
Bring it on—he could take it.
He had already benefited immensely from copying her shooting techniques—if he hadn't stolen those, the team wouldn't have dedicated an entire afternoon to training him yesterday.
Now, he was getting even more out of this fight.
This woman was practically his good luck charm. Compared to all this free training, what were fifty dollars and a little dignity worth?
Monica did not disappoint.
Side kicks, suplexes, roundhouse kicks, joint locks—every technique in her arsenal, whether practical or experimental, she tested them all on Owen.
To the others, Owen looked utterly wrecked—his nose was bleeding, and his face was bruised, but in reality, his injuries weren't serious.
Monica wasn't going all out, and Owen knew how to protect himself.
Maurice had already given up on getting his ten dollars back. His only consolation was that Owen had bet fifty dollars on himself—compared to Owen's bigger misfortune, Maurice suddenly felt lucky.
Owen was thrown down again.
Even with his enhanced physique, the repeated slams still hurt like hell.
Seeing Owen lie motionless, pretending to be dead, Monica finally stopped. She clapped the dust off her hands, completely satisfied, and walked out of the training ground.
Her mind was finally at peace.
She felt amazing.
The frustration from earlier was completely gone.
She was even considering making this a regular thing.
—
That evening
Owen arrived at a café called "New York Impression."
Located on Highland Avenue, it was right next to Hollywood Boulevard, deep in the heart of Hollywood itself.
He ordered a latte, and a beautiful waitress quickly brought it over, flashing him a bright smile.
Owen appreciated the view.
This was Hollywood—everywhere you looked, there were aspiring actresses chasing their dreams. Many of them, while waiting for their big break, worked temporary jobs to make ends meet.
Today's barista could easily become tomorrow's movie star—so always appreciate the moment.
This phenomenon turned Hollywood's coffee shops into beauty pageants, with every imaginable ethnicity, skin tone, and style. Plain-looking women had no chance of survival here.
No wonder this was Carlos' favorite place to hang out.
But Owen wasn't here to pick up women—he was meeting with representatives from Universal Studios.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Officer Owen."
Two men walked into the café. They clearly recognized him and headed straight over.
One of them, balding, reached out his hand.
"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Paul Hanks from Universal's production department. We spoke on the phone. And this is Peter Norton, the screenwriter for the project."
Owen shook hands with them and gestured for them to sit.
Two nights ago, Paul had called to say that Universal had acquired the rights to the Nakatomi Plaza heist and planned to turn it into a movie.
"Nice to meet you, but I should clarify—I'm not a cop anymore."
Owen corrected him.
He was curious about how these two had even found him. If they had gone through police channels, they would have known he had transferred to CTU.
"Oh, my mistake! Seeing you in person, I must say—you look even better than you do on TV!"
Paul smoothly complimented Owen.
Even though Owen knew it was just flattery, he had to admit—Paul was good at what he did.
Sure, Owen's features were sharp and masculine, but calling him handsome was a stretch.
"Actually, we got your contact info through Julia Andrews."
Paul grinned.
"See? Hollywood's a small world. We all have mutual friends, haha!"
Owen was surprised.
Julia Andrews—a superstar singer.
He had once worked security for her Los Angeles concert with Sam's team, which had left a good impression on her.
He never expected Universal to track him down through her.
"It's been a while since I last saw Ms. Andrews. How is she?"
"Oh, she's doing great. She's currently working on a reality show with our company. You'll see her on TV soon!"
They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Paul got to the point.
"Mr. Owen, here's the situation. Universal has acquired the rights to the Nakatomi Plaza incident and wants to adapt it into a film."
"No one understands what happened that night better than you.
So, we'd like you to recount everything in as much detail as possible.
Peter Norton here is a talented screenwriter—we believe he can turn your experience into an amazing story."
So that was it.
Owen had misunderstood.
Over the phone, they hadn't explained clearly, so he had thought Universal wanted him to act in the movie—which made no sense.
After all, he had no acting experience, and Universal wouldn't cast a complete rookie as the lead.
They just wanted more details to help develop the script.
Owen thought for a moment and then nodded.
Growing up in Los Angeles, the heart of Hollywood, he had always had a passion for movies.
He was happy to help—and besides, he didn't have much else to do at the moment.
"No problem. I'd be happy to help!"
"That's fantastic! Thank you so much!"
Paul grinned.
"Oh, by the way, we'll be compensating you for your time, and we'll also list you as a member of the screenwriting team."
Paul was smart, offering compensation upfront.
Owen didn't expect it to be much, but being involved in a movie was exciting enough.
"Sounds great. Oh, by the way—have you contacted John McClane? He was also part of the Nakatomi incident."
Paul sighed.
"We did, but unfortunately, he's currently dealing with... marital issues. He's too busy to work with us."
Owen nodded.
In the movie, he and his wife eventually divorced.
With a strong woman and a weak man, plus long-term separation, their breakup was inevitable.
Then something else occurred to Owen.
"Wait—have you guys spoken to CTU?"
His time at CTU had taught him that their operations were highly classified.
Would Universal even be allowed to make a movie about it?
Paul frowned.
"Thank you for pointing that out. We'll have to check with the headquarters and get in touch with CTU as soon as possible."